


you're dying a legend, darling (and I'm dying to touch you, baby)

by coincidental



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:29:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26234200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coincidental/pseuds/coincidental
Summary: The tension between them is a thrumming bloody thing, underwritten with a breathless too late cry of ‘jenga’ through their earrings, bruises marring pale skin and a gory rent hole in Vax’s belly, red dripping from his mouth as he blinks in belated surprise. There is so much violence that precedes this moment, this echo chamber of emotional turmoil and relief.Vax is reckless with his life, Percy does not approve, they work through it their own way.
Relationships: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vax'ildan
Comments: 21
Kudos: 105





	you're dying a legend, darling (and I'm dying to touch you, baby)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working at this on and off since forever.  
> I have not found anyone to beta read it so do pick me up if I've missed anything obvious!
> 
> x

"You are, hands down, the most reckless, infuriating bastard I have ever met."  
Vax backs up slowly, a grin curling his mouth. His eyes are lit with a bright energy that bubbles over, skin vibrating with the ‘ _almost_ ’ of it all. 

He almost died this time, but not quite. It’s fine. 

Percy stalks towards him in the slow prowling gait of a predator, his boots uncharacteristically quiet on the flagstones, a smudge of gunpowder on his jaw. Vax’s own clothes are bloody, torn in places. He slips off his greaves and drops them and Percy’s eyes flicker there, irritation welling up at the casual untidiness, the _disrespect_.  
"But, I'm still alive, so no harm no foul?"

Sometimes Percy is the man Vax trusts most, fiercely intelligent, a little pompous, charming. Sometimes he is Freddie, the friend Vax treasures dearly; mischief and laughter, a deep and abiding loyalty, witty one-liners falling from his curling smile.

Percy is also Lord Percival, heir of the noble house of Whitestone, and Vax’ildan, from time to time, had better get on his knees and show some respect.

"Freddie," Vax begins, a little creeping smile still there, a charming tease in his low voice. Percy aligns his path to head towards the fireplace and slowly tugs off one leather glove, settling into a monstrously ornate wingback chair, plush brocade fabric and deep mahogany. He sets the glove on the arm of the chair, then tugs off the other, placing it atop the first. Vax has paused, watching, shrugging his cloak from his shoulders to pool at his feet. Percy unbuttons his cuffs and silently rolls them up, one then the other, revealing the pale strength of his forearms. Vax's smile drops a little but the heat in his belly flares. 

Percy snaps his bare fingers and points at the floor before the indolent spread of his knees. Vax crumples and crawls.

Percy stares down at Vax for a moment when he settles in place between the spread thighs, before raising both pale brows, expression otherwise indifferent. Vax knows what comes next - they have played this game before - folding his arms behind his back, hand clasping wrist. He settles himself more comfortably, resigning himself, at least for a while, to remain on his knees. 

He opens his mouth to speak - to say what, he’s not sure, to argue, tease, flirt, it doesn’t matter. Percy cuts him off before he can say a thing, a strong calloused hand making itself at home with the fragility of Vax’s bones, squeezes his jaw, his cheeks. Percy’s sky blue eyes meet Vax’s grey and he waits. 

Vax relents his tense position, softens into the unforgiving touch. They have an understanding.

When Percy lets go, Vax's mouth is open, but not to speak, just waiting, slightly chapped lips parted and gaze unwavering. Percy licks his thumb and reaches to idly rub away a smear of blood on Vax’s chin. Vax does not move. 

Percy pours from an elegant tinted crystal decanter into a delicate glass on the table beside him, tugging loose the lacing on his breeches with one hand whilst the other stretches out to cradle the glass of red wine. The fabric at his groin is already snug, distended, his cock plainly half hard. He clicks his fingers again before he rests his hand atop the arm of the wingback chair once more. Percy doesn't need to look down, Vax knows he's got an apology to make. 

Percy resists the urge to admire Vax. He’s seen Vax’ildan like this before, knows the easy way his sharp mouth goes soft and adoring when it touches skin. He sips his wine and revels in the first soft hot touch of a tongue to the head of his cock. Humming in pleasure, he savours the rich taste of the smooth red on his palate and knowing the obnoxious comment will grate, he murmurs;   
"A good vintage." Vax rolls his eyes.

The tension between them is a thrumming bloody thing, underwritten with a breathless too late cry of ‘jenga’ through their earrings, bruises marring pale skin and a gory rent hole in Vax’s belly, red dripping from his mouth as he blinks in belated surprise. There is so much violence that precedes this moment, this echo chamber of emotional turmoil and relief. 

The eye-roll rankles Percy and he reaches to curl his fingers into Vax’s hair, dragging fingertips over his scalp and directing him with a tight hand. Vax’s fine hair is like dark silk between his fingers, spilling from his grasp like ink. Percy revels in the way the smallest flex of his fist is echoed by a small, breathy, wet inhalation from Vax.

Vax, for his part, revels in the tense nature of their foreplay. He and Percy can equally be playful or soft and sweet, but the anger right now is simmering beneath Percy’s skin, a pent up tension between them that grew roots the moment they entered the dungeon room to find Vax holding himself together before he slumped back off the mangled rusted blade in him. 

Percy angry is a thing to behold, eyes dark and a lit fury in the venomous curl of his mouth and the unwavering aim of his gun. That intensity turned on Vax as soon as the danger passed and he grinned with bloody teeth, repeating “Jenga?” just to see Percy snarl and hear that tight,  
“Damn it all Vax, this isn’t _funny_.”

It’s not funny now either, but Percy doesn’t have to say so. He pulls Vax back from him without a word, having grown fully hard in the wet heat of his mouth.   
“Strip, then face down, over my lap.” His words are deceptively soft, but Percy knows there is no missing the command in them. Some people learn to expect their orders followed, Percy was born with that expectation flooding through his veins. 

Vax sheds his clothes like a selkie shedding seal skin, the oiled blacks and greys - bloodstained and torn - giving way to the newness of skin beneath, the otherness of pale mortality beneath the animal savagery of armour. 

There is no elegant way to do as Percy asks, not for a grown man, slight as Vax’ildan may be. The sprawl of Percy’s strong thighs gives him a good brace though and he can blame the heat of his face on the lit warmth of the fire so close to them as he settles across his lap. The pale skin of his backside heats similarly with the first sharp, stinging impact.

Percy’s fine clothes cut him as a well-proportioned man, yes, broad shoulders, a relatively trim waist beneath the layers and holsters, however, his clothes disguise the strength of his arms. He is not bulky, not so broad and brutish as the strength that lies within Grog’s powerful muscles, but his arms are corded with lean power and he unleashes it with the flat of his palm. 

Vax’s instinctive first reaction is sharp, a cry of surprise, for though he knew it was coming, you don’t remember the pain until it comes again. 

After that, it is breathless pained appreciation. If Percy wanted him to count, he would have asked. If he wanted Vax to be quiet, he would have said that too. Percy wants to hear exactly what Vax feels spilling out of him as his body demands. 

Vax does not know how long it goes on for, but when Percy stops, his skin blooms with aching prickling heat and his gasps sound a little wet. 

Percy admires the reddened skin with a cursory tickling brush of his fingertips that makes Vax’ildan bow and tense across his lap and hiss with pain. He reaches and finds one of Vax’s hands. He squeezes, gently, and the answer is one of equally reassuring gentleness, though Vax’s trembles. 

Vax sees the world through gauze curtains and the flicker of the firelight is an amorphous glowing cacophony of red and gold. Percy’s touch is an anchor and Vax’s mouth falls silently open as the slow drag of dry fingers between his cheeks. 

“Up.” Percy’s instruction comes with a light swat to the back of Vax’s thigh, the skin there not yet tender. Vax’ildan responds with none of his normal speed or agility, sluggish. Percy does not reprimand it because he _knows how this goes_. They’ve done this before. 

He encourages Vax’ildan onto his lap in a way that has him intimately and unavoidably close, pale thighs spread to straddle the outer side of Percy’s clothed ones, unsteady hands finding purchase on the wings of the armchair, white-knuckled but steadier. Percy gentles a hand down his spine like you might a skittish horse and Vax blinks, watching him through dark dark lashes. Percy waits until that gaze focuses before his touch dips lower. The slow touch has Vax’s dark lashes fluttering and rattles loose a shuddering breath. 

“Inside pocket, right side, small tin. Get it out for me.” This close, Percy’s voice is soft, but there is no room to interpret it as sweetly so. It does not yield ground in lieu of quietude and gentle tone. Vax’ildan extends dextrous fingers beneath the lapel of the coat Percy still wears, finding the correct pocket by touch alone and extracting its contents. 

Percy plucks it from his fingers, unscrews it, covers two fingers with the oily salve within, then a third. His hand gleams in the light from the fire. Vax wordlessly screws the lid back onto the tin and sets it on the table beside them.

Slick fingers find their way to Vax’s skin, warm and slippery as they skim the reddened slight curve of his buttock and press against him again. Vax hisses an inhalation and exhales a soft groan as Percy presses in.

The rhythm they find is slow despite the feeling that brims up between them. Percy’s anger and his fierce frustration are kept at bay, cut off and held tight beneath his ribs in the heavy thump of his pulse, but never touching the easy curl of his fingers, the flex of his forearm and angled wrist. There’s a place for pain here and equally, he knows where there is no room for it. Vax rocks, easy subtle shifts with his pink open mouth and heavy eyes, finding a knife-edge of pleasure between the slow touches and the way that sometimes, _sometimes_ , Percy brushes the reddened sore skin of his backside and he jerks, flinches, revels in it. 

When it comes to it, there’s little surprising or unusual in it, just familiar restless patience. Percy’s fingers slip free. Vax kneels up, body an impossible architecture of balance in pale marble, finding his place and easing down to bring their bodies into a singular composition. It’s a truce until it isn’t.

They fuck the way they talk, give and take; Percy in sharp crisp prose with the steady roll of his hips, relentless, dignity never giving way to more than short breaths and bared teeth, fingers curling tight on Vax’s hips; Vax in witty one-liners with abrupt twists of his hips, flirtatious banter in the brush of his nose to Percy’s high cheekbone and the soft gasp that follows a sinuous roll of his body. It’s good, steady heat building, sweaty palms making them both grip tighter. 

Vax is about to come, the pitch of his moans going higher and stuttering, when Percy’s fingers curl around him snug and tight and- _cold_ ? It cuts the pleasure short like a sucker punch and Vax gasps greedily at the air as he tries to take stock. There is a snug metal device locked tight around him and it holds him _right on the edge_ , but no further. He doesn’t know when Percy got it out, or from what pocket in his stupid fucking coat.   
“ _Shit_ .” Percy’s answering smile is smug.  
“I think you’ve not earned that yet.”  
" _Freddie_ , Percival, _fuck_."

Percy ‘tsks’ softly, his fingers finding Vax’s hips once more and continuing his steady thrusts.   
"Good behaviour is rewarded, when you show me some, you'll get one." It’s cruelly teasing, considering they both know that since they entered this room, Vax’ildan has been very good indeed, but it’s part of how this goes, they both know that too. Vax whines now, the sound escaping him for the first time as his forehead touches the fabric of Percy’s coat at his shoulder. When he inhales, it still smells like blood and gunpowder.

“Come now, Vax’ildan, show me how good you can be.” Percy’s demanding hands settle themselves in kingly repose upon the arms of the chair and he sits back. Vax straightens to hold himself up by his own mettle and his breath hitches at the change in angle, a lancing frisson of pleasure curling up his spine. 

If there is anything Vax’ildan knows how to do, it is how you keep taking steps when you are too tired to, how you keep drawing your blade when you are battle weary before you’ve begun, how you straighten your spine and meet what’s coming head-on, even though you are not quite ready. This is easy in comparison, to find his balance, his muscles biting at him like tired feral dogs in protest of the movements, his strong slim thighs tensing to lift and drop, lift and drop. 

Percy’s eyes have slipped to half-mast, electric blue, dark lashes fringing the intensity of them as they watch Vax, the firelight kindling a fierce bright heat in the cool colour. It matches the gleam of fierce determination in Vax’s own, the heated ruddy flush that mottles his cheeks and neck and chest. 

There is something decadent, Percy knows, in watching Vax work like this and not lifting a finger. He does not chase his pleasure, he demands Vax chase it for him. It builds like a rising tide.

In truth, Percy cannot be content to do nothing but watch, not for long, he is too fond of leading the dance. It does not surprise Vax’ildan when there are grasping hands guiding his body faster still and the rough drag of fabric against his chest as a hot mouth finds his bare throat. Whether it is a bite or a kiss or simply devouring, Vax is not wholly sure, but it’s a sweet aching, _bruising_ pain and Percy’s grunt of pleasure is muffled within it.

Percy does not bellow or shout at completion, too much of a nobleman’s restraint in the tense set of his body. Vax merely pants, slowing his movements to a halt at the flood of messy heat and the fractional softening of the man beneath him. 

Vax’s head has found Percy’s shoulder again and he tries to catch his breath.

Percy eases their position with gentle touches, coaxing Vax to slump against him a moment so he can ease free. If Vax thought Percival was done, he is proven wrong. Percy’s fingers map a path down Vax’s spine, the pads tripping an eager pattern along his vertebrae, finding, eventually, where he is wet and open, his idle touch dragging the mess the press to it back inside. With two fingers tucked inside Vax’s slick heat, he can stroke in teasing, almost sweet, flexes of his wrist. 

Vax’ildan would like to protest otherwise, but he is a glutton for punishment and though Percy’s touches are gentle, they are far from kindly in intention. The slow drag, press, _curl_ of those fingers inside him stokes the low simmering heat in Vax’s belly, but the cool curl of metal around him tamps it down, keeps the flames stuttering and flickering and flaring without the pay-off of true heat.

Though the bracketing arms of the chair prevent him moving much, Vax finds himself attempting to spread his thighs wider, to open himself up to just a little more of that sweet torturously slow touch. It’s simultaneously too much, and not at all enough.  
“Percy, Percy _please_ .” Vax’s words are lost in a quiet gasp against Percy’s shoulder. The man in question hums a soft thoughtful sound, ‘tsking’ quietly.  
“Such a lack of reverence from you,” he admonishes, resting his cheek idly against the soft fall of Vax’ildan’s hair. It’s warm from the fire and silky soft against his face. Vax balances on a thread, clinging to his thoughts. He _knows_ what Percy is getting at, he knows how this goes. 

“Lord de Rolo, _sir_ , _please._ ” The chuckle he receives in response is warm, affectionately familiar and easy.  
"Do you really think, after what you pulled, that playing sweet and calling me sir is going to be enough?" Vax knows it is not going to be enough. Percy’s fingers retreat and Vax doesn’t mean to whine but he does. Percy kisses his cheek in a parody of chasteness.  
"Go to the bed, Vax. Crawl."

If getting into Percy’s lap was inelegant, disembarking it is probably more so. Vax makes it to the floor intact by virtue of avoiding looking at Percy’s expression throughout. His friend is undoubtedly kind enough to not openly laugh at his stilted movement, but he suspects his amusement would not be deeply buried. 

The distance from the warm fireside to the opulently dressed bed across the room feels like an agonising one as Vax traverses it with his aching knees on the cold stone.

From behind him, at enough of a distance that the sound carries strangely, Percy speaks up;   
"Up, over the edge, face down." Vax meets the edge of the draping bedclothes and fumbles to do as he’s asked, the rich damask cover thick and stiff beneath his palms as he eases himself up. It’s strange to be up on the power of his own legs somehow, and he rocks on the balls of his feet, settling with arms folded beneath his cheek. Percy’s steps draw closer, halting nearby. 

Vax is a painting of warm white that wars with angry Alizarin crimson handprints, the smudges of bruises touched with manganese violet and Prussian blue. Some bruises Percy may have left, most he didn’t. 

From this angle, he is bared entirely and a white smear leaks from him. It makes something go hot and possessive for a beat in Percy’s chest, though they are _not like that_. He buries that monster deeper down.  
"What a mess,” he comments. “I would have thought you could hold that in.” He sees Vax twitch at his lazy chiding words. “I think you _could…_ you just _didn't_ ." It’s too hard to resist the call of it, so Percy allows his hand to meet Vax’s ass in a light slap. Vax tenses, mostly in surprise, and Percy hears his brief muffled inhalation. "You're a brat." That's more affectionate, something fond in it. "Show me then, _properly_ , no need to be shy."

Vax spreads his thighs wider, angling his back in a lovely arch and canting his hips to present his red ass, white spend beginning to trickle down his pale inner thigh. Vax cannot help the surge of satisfaction at Percy’s answering hum of pleasure and pipes up, low and a little hoarse.  
“Is his Lordship satisfied?”

That earns Vax another slap, quick and sharp on his thigh. He yelps, something of a laugh in it.  
“You’ll speak when spoken to. You know you deserve this, Vax. You’re too reckless with your own life.” The slap turns into a caress, a squeeze, and Vax’s skin is hot beneath the gun calloused stroke of Percy’s palm. He may speak as though he has never worked a day in his life, like he’s the uncaring, unfeeling, arrogant noble, but his hands remind Vax that Percy is far more. 

“I take care of what’s mine and you make that so _impossibly_ difficult sometimes. When will you learn?” Percy’s voice is crystal cut and layered with frustration and love both.

Percy’s steps pace away and Vax doesn’t look up. Despite not being able to see him, he feels no urge to check, no panic, just a hazy heady warmth flooding through him. His pleasure is somewhere secondary, waiting. He’s accepted that it’s not going to change until Percy says so. Whether that happens by generosity or pleading, he’s not yet sure.

Percy is behind him once more, and despite his usually alert senses, Vax does not know by sound, but instead by the gentling touch over his flank, then down his spine, Percy’s hand reassuringly warm and slow. Vax may twitch at first, but he stills into quietude beneath the familiarity of it. 

Vax is still angled all for show, like some decadent coat draped across the bed for a master’s perusal before he decides if he will try it on for the evening’s gaiety. Percy brushes teasing fingers, pads brushing lightly, where Vax is held open. And then, inexorably there is the slow press of something unforgiving and solid pushed into him, slick, cool and smooth and perfectly flared to stretch him briefly, the ache a rippling almost pain up his spine, before it settles.  
“Ah, _fuck_.” Vax hears himself whine almost absently as his body clenches around the intrusion. Percy’s light fingers trace the rim of, Vax is sure, the polished green glass-like residuum plug. Vax and this particular toy of Percy’s are already intimately acquainted. 

“Now,” Percy sounds obscenely smug, the sense of it rounding off his tone and gilding it with gold, “it’s been a long day, and I think we both need our sleep.”  
“Like this?” Vas asks, breathless, squirming to either alleviate or chase the sensation of the pressure in him, which he is not sure.  
“ _Exactly_ like this.” Percy’s hand fingers the silky fall of Vax’s dark hair and strokes affectionately.

Vax finds he has little in him that really wants to argue, so he resists the swell of tired inaction that weighs him against the sheets and, in a fashion most ungainly, clambers tiredly onto the bed, crawling up it to collapse his head upon the pillows.  
  
Through shuttered eyelids, he watches Percy undress, beautifully tailored fabric draping onto a carved wooden clothes horse, a reveal of scarred skin tamed to warmth by firelight. When Percy climbs onto the bed with him, it is with warm slow touches, tugging at the coverlet to pull it over them, idly caressing, possessive hands on Vax’s skin that pull him closer.  
  
Sleep is a near thing and Vax finds it.  
  


* * *

  
On waking, Vax’ildan trips into the still state of an animal in fight or flight as a disconcerting array of sensation buffets him from _all_ angles. It’s that, honestly, that has him take measure with the most immediacy. The idle shift of Percy’s body against him is secondary, half asleep, warm and comfortable.  
  
Vax’s racing heart finds its peace and slows.

Cataloguing the sensations without the sharp red edge of panic, Vax categorises them. Percy is against him, moulded to his pack, a possessive slack hand on Vax’s belly, a curiously hard press of morning wood against Vax’s backside - not _so_ deeply asleep then. Vax’ildan’s body aches distantly, a smattering of stiffness and bruising that lights him up with satisfying discomfort when he stretches. There’s something good in that pain, something tender and healing. The plug in him is also a somewhat persistent pressure, making him shiver and clench, and he knows he continues down that way, the currently skin-warm snug cage of metal around the base of his cock will not be so comfortable. 

He knows Percy is awake when the fingers on his belly lightly creep down to scratch blunt nails against the hair below his navel. Vax shifts and feels Percy nose softly at the back of his neck. 

His plans to not over-excite himself are swept aside as Percy’s light fingers venture lower and cup him in a warm palm, easing into slow rubbing touches that have Vax feeling too warm beneath the layers of their blankets, cheeks heating and eyes sinking half-closed. When Percy squeezes next, gentle and teasing, it is with Vax hard in his hand. 

Percy begins to idly stroke, slow lazy rolls of his wrist, persisting until Vax’s pale face gleams with a faint sheen of sweat, restless hips jerking in fraught tiny motions to chase the dry warmth of Percy’s palm.   
"Good morning, brat,” Percy’s lips move in sweet brushes to the back of Vax’s neck, so desperately soft, sleep burred and affectionate, hooking in Vax's belly.

“Morning,” Vax returns, a rasp in his tone, quiet. Then Percy’s hand stops, draws up to rest flat against Vax’ildan’s belly and Vax is hardly awake and already he feels as though he’s on a knife-edge. "Fuck, Freddie," a desperate little laugh escapes him, a quiet hiccup more frustration than mirth, "come on."

In a move that has something wild in Vax wanting to lunge out and pull him back, though he does not, Percy rolls away from him and slips out of bed. Unable to reach, Vax’ildan satisfies himself for a moment by admiring. Percy is half hard, cock flushing darkly already, his long, lean, scarred pale body on show as he stretches. Padding across the cool room to open the heavy damask drapes that block out the light, the swift tug to them has light flooding across the floor.  
  
It’s dazzling and it takes Vax’s eyes a minute to adjust to the early cool brightness of it. Across the distance of the open floor and rumpled sheets, Percy’s eyes find Vax, sweating in the midst of the cavernous bed, his gaze covetous and sleep soft. Vax’s belly lurches.  
  
It is not as though they never fuck in the light of day, so Vax is hardly surprised at Percy deciding to open the curtain, what galls him is when Percy walks next to the door, cracking it open a fraction and raising his voice in a casually demanding request for breakfast. _Breakfast_. Vax is going to kill him.

And Vax just- he can't stay still and wait. Fuck he _can’t_. He's waited for so fucking long.

With the kind of brash courage that has found him in melee with dragons that eclipse his small frame, Vax tucks his questing fingers below the coverlet and curls a hand around himself, trying to loose the catch on the metal ring around his cock.

And It's _loose_ and he arches and _fuck fuck fuck_ the pleasure is _right there._

Percy disagrees, reacquainting himself with Vax’s personal space between one breath and another, pinning Vax’ildan beneath his weight, unyielding hands yanking Vax’s wrists up to pin them to the sheets. He squeezes hard enough that Vax yelps, tucking Vax’s slender wrists into a hold requiring one hand so he can pull the covers down with the other, kneeing Vax’s thighs roughly apart.

"When, exactly, Vax'ildan, did I give you the impression that I take kindly to others touching what I own?" Vax inhales sharply and his body shifts with the restless fluttering twists of a pinned butterfly. When Vax looks like this, Percy wants nothing more than to hold him down, close, to bury him beneath the spread of his own body and keep him all for Percy’s own. It’s not what they do, not really, but he wants it, just a little. (A lot.) Vax shivers, bares his teeth.  
“You ordered _breakfast_ ,” he retorts, breathily petulant.  
"I did,” Percy agrees amicably, ”but you come when I say you can, or not at all." As he speaks, his free hand makes its way down between them and he clasps the ring closed again, torturously snug. Vax groans, wounded and desperate and Percy cannot help himself in ducking down to swallow the sound with a kiss.

Shifting up so his knees bracket Vax's ribs, Percy’s unrelenting grip stretches Vax’s hands up higher above his head. "Is that understood?"   
Percy's weight on him makes Vax breathless, the demand in Percy’s silken tone a snug knot around Vax’s throat, his heart. Quite besides, it is impossible not to notice that the move has Percy's hard cock _right there_. The fucking absolute certainty of control in Percy's voice ekes out an answer from Vax;  
"Yes."  
"Yes, what?"  
"Yes my Lord."

There is no response then, just another shift of Percy's weight over Vax, the pressure on his wrists a little heavier, no give, no alleviation of the tight grip for Vax's good behaviour, just Percy's other hand on Vax's jaw to urge it open so he can press his hips forward. Vax does not feel a need to protest this, in addition to Vax’s capability to hold his breath, the thick heat of Percy on his tongue has him feeling a little overwhelmed in the best way. 

When Percy's cock jerks against the back of Vax's throat, then Percy speaks up.  
"Better."

Vax moans then, cannot help it, revels in the easy grinding jerk of Percy's hips. Percy's breath hardly hitches.   
"I vastly prefer when your smart mouth isn't spouting profanity or nonsense, but put to proper use.” Percy is lying, at least a little, loves to hear Vax talk, to hear him laugh and jibe, but they’ve done this before, they know how it goes. Percy finds himself a little wavering for a moment, grip on his control more briefly tenuous as more covetous, helpless things escape him; “This is where you belong, Vax'ildan, under me, where I can keep you safe."

Percy thrusts, finds a rhythm, and Vax, pinned, can feel the strong flex of his thighs and the muscles in his stomach, the strength in his arms.   
"I thought you were going to be good for me Vax." Percy is soft, almost conversational, polished honey-smooth tone returning as he finds his balance, his rhythm, his control. "I was going to feed you breakfast, then allow you the pleasure of coming on my fingers. But..." He ‘tsks’, sighs, grinds down hard enough to make Vax gag, to feel the tight wet convulsion of his throat. "But, apparently, you need a firmer hand."  
Percy engages his muscles to use, kneels up a little, his hard cock left resting against Vax's swollen spit slick lower lip. Vax pants, feeling the heat on his face matched in Percy's stare. Percy relinquishes Vax’s hands, the briefest stroke of his open palm down Vax's arm a reminder of the affection beneath their play. Those hard-worked clever fingers curl in Vax's hair next with a biting promise of violence Percy would never, _will_ never, unleash on Vax, not really, nothing more in it than the sting of pulled hair, taut.  
  


"Reckless, demanding, impulsive brat."   
"Yes." Vax’s inhalations are still a little wet and his voice is softly strained with the awkwardly extended position Percy holds him in. Percy does not relent his hold, but moves on the bed, watching with piercing pale eyes and a conceited little curl to his spoilt soft mouth. Only a lucky few see Vax like this he knows. Impetuous, demanding, Percy’s grip twists a fumbling Vax’ildan onto his belly, then coaxes him up onto hands and knees.

"Hold onto the headboard, keep your hands there, don't disappoint me." There’s a heat in his tone that belies the boredom his words carry at first and Vax clumsily, heavily, blindly reaches to find his grip. He begins to exist in a disconnect, disjointed, pulse a thunder in his ears, body drifting, trusting, into the touches Percy bestows like an eager puppy seeking affection.

Oil from a vial on the nightstand, not that Vax sees that, is soon dripping down from the top of Vax's crack in a cold slide. Percy twists the plug in him slowly and deliberately, careful despite his eagerness, letting the oil slick the movements until he can tug just a little to pull it out a fraction then back, then out more, thrusting in. Vax cannot breathe. 

When Percy removes it entirely, all the way out, Vax feels the absence in a way that is open, raw, and utterly at Percy's disposal. Percy's thumbs spread him open, greedily possessive as they tease over Vax’s reddened wet rim.  
  
The slow touch of a tongue, teasing and curious, drags a sob from Vax’s chest, hauls it out with a barbed touch and he moans. The slick stroke of it inside is a jolting line of heat through Vax, lighting him up and leaving his thighs trembling, shaking. Percy curls one finger in with the lazy thrust of his tongue and distantly, Vax thinks he would be coming now, if he could, body jerking forcefully and shuddering beneath Percy’s hands.

Percy's slow open-mouthed kisses would feel filthily indulgent, two fingers now spreading Vax alongside his tongue, were it not for the way that pleasure ebbs and throbs and hands, suspended, over, around and above Vax, but never quite there. He grunts, shifts with frustration, unable to help rocking back on the clever slide of Percy's tongue, the wicked curl of his fingers. It earns Vax the loss of Percy's mouth and stinging slap on his ass that makes him jerk, yelp, clenching hard around the two fingers in him.

"Ah- _please_!" He’s not convinced his words are even quite comprehensible.  
"Please what Vax? Again?" Percy's rejoinder is accompanied by a second slap over the first, skin reddened in the shape of his palm. Vax jolts in place, feels the way his cock jerks too, hard, aching.  
"Please, please don't stop, Percy, shit." Vax's voice is raw and broken open. Percy slaps again, seeking out the whimper that it elicits.   
"Address me properly or I will tie you to this bed and leave you like this." The threat is hollow, probably, but caught in the reckless web of pleasure and pain both, Vax’ildan cannot parse that.   
"Lord de Rolo." Vax gasps. "Please my lord." Percy bends his head and informs Vax of his approval with the slick drag of his tongue and a hand curling around Vax's weeping hard cock. Vax finds it hard to focus, hard to think. Percy's tongue is a wonder and his hand is sweet torture and Vax is too breathless now to beg. Percy lifts his head, kissing the small of Vax’s back in an almost tender way, then scrapes his teeth.   
"Do you think you deserve to come?"

"Yes!" Tripping over his plea in his eagerness, Vax’s fingers are white-knuckled, thoughtless. Percy squeezes his ass, kneeling up to nudge the head of his cock against Vax's wet, stretched rim.   
"Then you haven't learnt a thing."

Percy rocks into him, hard and slow, making space for himself inside Vax that feels more than physical. His palm slides from Vax’s lower back up the notched mountain range of his pale spine and settles that hand on the back of Vax's neck, squeezing. He snaps his next thrust hard and deep.  
"You endangered your life, scared me half to death and now, now you stubbornly refuse to learn your lesson." Another thrust, a cruelly sweet stroke of Percy's hand on his aching cock. "No, Vax'ildan, you do not deserve to come."

Percy chases his own pleasure with thoughtless pace, the slap of his hips against Vax's reddened ass a satisfying litany of obscenity accompanied by the sweeter sounds of Vax's sobbing gasps at every ‘ _too much, oh fuck, too much’_ stroke of Percy's hand.  
"When you learn the lesson I am teaching you, I will make you come. Until then, I will treat you like the insubordinate brat you are." Vax's hands slip on the headboard and it jars him forward, head resting against the wood, arm slung over it and the other curling on the sheets.

Percy comes with a hoarse grunt of pleasure, grinding deep into Vax’s slick heat and rocking his movements to a halt. He pulls out reluctantly, as he begins to soften, and snagging the plug abandoned on the sheets. Percy presses the cool, glass-like bulb against Vax where he is red, wet and open. For his part, Vax'ildan slumps down, allowing his face to press into the pillow, burying there his muffled whine. He doesn't fight it though, does not protest verbally and it goes in so easily, puffy swollen rim slick with oil, spit and come.

"Please, come on, _please_." Vax's voice is thick and wet. Percy taps the base of the plug, stroking a fond hand over the slap marks on Vax’s pale backside before flopping down beside him. Vax turns with wet clumped lashes that frame his grey sky eyes like obscene jagged flakes of obsidian. He is so beautiful like this, Percy has to find some control in him not to steal that bitten mouth for a kiss so fierce it is soul-stealing. Percy opens his arms instead, an offer of more stable comfort.

Vax is all slim compact muscle, elbows and cold fingers, squirming close and burying his face against Percy. Percy strokes his hair, slowly, relishing how soft it still is as it slips between his fingers. 

It takes a few minutes, Percy giving him time to settle and breathe and feel Vax’s taut form soften against him. Vax feels wrung out.  
"I'm sorry," Vax gasps in a tired little rasp against Percy’s neck, his face a little wet. Percy swipes those stray tears away with a thumb, attentively gentle now, smiles, even though Vax can't see the satisfaction of the expression.   
"You're sorry?" Percy echoes, stroking idle and feather-light down his spine. Vax nods, following with a breathless soft repetition of the words again and again. "Sorry that you didn't get to come?" Percy cuts him short with the query and Vax hesitates before he deliberately shakes his head, shifting closer.  
"For the rest, for... yesterday,” Vax’s reply is halting, a consideration behind his words. “A little for not coming. Probably."  
  
Percy laughs at that, soft and warm, pressing a light kiss to the crown of Vax’s head.  
"Good, then you are forgiven. Scare me like that again though, you'll regret it." Percy's tone is firm but his hands are gentle, sliding down to touch, curl carefully around Vax's half-hard and sensitive cock. Vax makes the beginning of a protest, but Percy releases the clasp, tossing aside the small metal ringed piece. It bounces on the floor out of sight with a little thump and a roll.  
  
Vax presses his gasp to Percy's skin and Percy waits until his trembling stops. He’s no longer hard and his face, upturned towards Percy is relief mingled with a strangely sated exhaustion.  
"Okay?" Percy murmurs. He receives an answering nod from Vax, kissing him once, sweet and indulgent.

They share a silence for a while, sequestered on the opulent sheets with sweat cooling their skin. They know how this goes because they’ve done it before, and now is where their friendship takes back the reigns.  
  
At length, Vax stretches, sprawls lazily on his back with a wince and rubs his face.  
"You made me work for that Freddie, you asshole." Vax sounds fond. Percy huffs a laugh and lolls his head to grin at Vax’ildan  
"You should be made to work for things more often... brat." Vax smiles and rolls over onto his belly instead. There's a knock at the door.

"Go get our breakfast, Lord de Rolo. And I want a bath." Percy smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, then pretty please let me know your thoughts or click for some kudos! <3
> 
> x


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